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This is my 58th summer of life. I’ve lived nearly all those years here in Minnesota. Every summer I have heard that buzz…that whine…of cicadas on warm, dry afternoons and evenings. To my ears, it was simply the sound of summer.
These wide, ugly bugs don’t hurt anybody, though they look intimidating, like they could inflict a nasty sting if they wanted to. But they’re harmless. They just make that loud buzzing we hear so many summer days.

I remember my college roommate from Nigeria, visiting my home one summer many years ago, asking me, “What is that noise?” “Huh?” “What is that … BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!” “Oh, that’s a cicada … a BUG!”

It’s never bothered me before, just these last couple days. I find myself wishing they would just SHUT UP!

I know, it’s just a bug. It’s always been here; it will always be here. I should just accept it as I always have before.

I guess I’m just getting old and crotchety.

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